


The Apartment

by lawless



Category: Gravitation
Genre: M/M, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-02-08
Updated: 2009-02-08
Packaged: 2017-10-10 04:23:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,905
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/95454
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawless/pseuds/lawless
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shuichi shows a reporter around the apartment he shares with Eiri Yuki. Eiri's nowhere to be found, and the reporter seems to have a personal agenda having nothing to do with the apartment. Implied Eiri/Shuichi.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I See and I Imagine

**Author's Note:**

> Rating/Warnings: M for adult concepts, language, violent imagery, vulgarity, graphic insults and rank homophobia.
> 
> Disclaimers: It's Maki Murakami's sandbox; I just play in it. I don't own the series or these characters and I don't make any money from them. No copyright or other infringement is intended.
> 
> Also, I do not share the narrator's homophobia, though I may share the narrator's overheated imagination, but it has a purpose. Be patient. All will be explained -- at least most of it -- in the second chapter.
> 
> This story is set in manga timeframe after Tohma pushes Taki Aizawa in front of a car (Track 18, Volume 5) and before Eiri breaks up with Shuichi and Shuichi 'leaves' for New York (Track 33, Volume 8).
> 
> Chapter 1 is told from the reporter's point of view. Chapter 2 is told from Shuichi's point of view.

Yes, please come inside.

'Thank you,' I say, and bow. I tell him, 'It's very kind of you to show me the apartment you share with Yuki-san.' I bet your manager and Seguchi-san talked you into this. If you and Yuki-san had your way, you'd slam the door in my face. I know for a fact Yuki-san would _enjoy_ shutting the door _on_ my face and hearing my bones crack. He's not above slamming my fingers between the hinges either.

A _tokonoma_ alcove with a small round table with _ikebana_ on it and a scroll hanging above it graces the entryway. The flower arrangement is striking: two irises with an orchid plus some branches and greenery. Even though two fags live here, I doubt either of them is capable of such artistry. They both have sisters; perhaps one of them came here and did the arrangement? The thought that they might have had to inconvenience one of their relatives to impress me warms me. Or maybe NG sent someone to do this? That thought warms me less.

There's a _batsudan_ hidden behind louvered shutters to the left of the table and scroll. Interesting. I've learned that Yuki-san is the eldest son of the Uesugi family of Kyoto of Jodo Shinshu /1/ temple fame. The loser ran away from his family obligations to come whoring to Tokyo and write romance novel crap for horny schoolgirls and lonely housewives. I'm surprised he brought any reminder of the heritage he left behind with him. I guess you can take the man out of the temple but you can't take the temple out of the man.

I toe off my loafers and look up. The first thing I notice is the kitchen alcove just ahead. The small window above the sink is shuttered and lets in almost no light. All the better not to see what I imagine them doing on the small kitchen table. After all, they fuck like bunnies. So I hear, anyway.

There is no dining room table. Four chairs are squeezed around the nondescript square kitchen table. Clearly they don't have many dinner parties, although I hear Yuki-san is an excellent cook. A couple of empty mugs with coffee stains – or maybe they're tea stains - sit on the table. I imagine him sitting Shindou-kun on the table . . .

I look to my right. The room is large, stark, and unbroken, with a high sloping ceiling and skylights. It is painted white, which makes everything else stand out.

A console snuggles up to the wall just past the entryway. It's curved and made of burled maple with flowers made of mother of pearl inlay. It looks like it may be an antique. An heirloom, perhaps? It's probably Yuki-san's; after all, Shindou-kun's family is nothing special. A larger flower arrangement of crepe myrtle, cherry blossoms, and weeping willows sits on top and a brass statue of many-limbed Shiva, the Destroyer and Transformer, sits on the floor next to the console.

A long sectional couch lounges against the far wall and wraps forward to the left. It's made of buttery smooth taupe leather with large throw pillows in a nearly matching pleated satin scattered about on its expanse. I think to myself that taupe is a good color to hide the stains the couch must accumulate on a daily basis; all the Scotchguard in the world couldn't prevent them. Better to have a leather couch that is more easily cleaned of such things than a fabric couch would be.

Does Shindou-kun kneel before him and worship his cock before taking it into his mouth and sucking him dry? Of course; I'm sure of it. Does Yuki-san kneel before Shindou-kun and worship his cock before taking it into his mouth and --- That I'm less sure of. I can't imagine Yuki-san worshipping anything other than his own cock, his own erection, and his precious goddamn writing. He thinks he's hot shit.

An espresso-colored lacquer coffee table crouches in front of the couch where perversions are ritually performed. A large brass Indian-looking ashtray with swirling designs and an even larger massive clear glass ashtray sit on the table. They are sparkling clean, but I bet they aren't when he's here. He smokes like a goddamn chimney and smells like one too.

When I typed "ashtray" in the above paragraph, I first typed "asstray" by mistake. A Freudian slip, I guess. He's an ass, and I'd like his ass served up on a tray. Asstray indeed.

Several abstract modern paintings or prints – I can't tell which – hang above the couch. One looks like a Picasso line drawing. Is it original or is it a print? I am sure it is Yuki-san's; it's not Shindou-kun's taste. That is, if he has any taste. Did Yuki-san purchase it because it pleases him or because it demonstrates to all who walk into his living room that he is a sophisticated man of impeccable taste?

Almost the entire wall to my right is made of glass. There's a sliding glass door leading out to a balcony, but it's not the balcony where laundry is hung to dry.

These two dicks have a breathtaking view of the garish glowing lights of Tokyo, including the NG building in the distance, if you can cut through the smog enough to see it, but they also have a view of a small park that is almost at your feet. I hear that's where they met. I hear that Yuki-san insulted Shindou-kun's lyrics. I wonder what he thinks of them now. Does Shindou-kun sing them to him while they're lying in bed?

In the large area extending between the coffee table and the wall opposite the couch is a thick pile rug with an abstract design in taupe, beige, sienna, and pumpkin. It resembles the design of a Mondrian painting without the black lines between the blocks of color. I feel the pile, the nap of the rug. My hand sinks into it. Does he sink into it on top of his _genki_ lover?

A large video screen sits on a lacquered table in front of the wall opposite the couch. A small stereo system hooked up to an iPod sits next to it. It's amazing how small such things have gotten. It used to be that you needed a large entertainment center to house a decent stereo.

Shindou-kun takes me over to a closed door on the left side of the hallway to the left of the entryway. He hesitates and opens the door, blocking my view. He turns around and tells me that this is Yuki-san's study, where he writes. We can only look. We can't go in. I don't say anything. I expected this. I'm glad just to be able to get a glimpse of the Great Writer's lair.

It's small, almost tiny. Claustrophobic, even. Fittingly, there are no windows.

I notice his laptop is missing. Shindou-kun explains that Yuki-san is staying at his sister's for the day and took his laptop with him. The implication is that rather than socialize with his sister, he plans on getting some work done. Good for him, because I'm certainly not getting much of anything done here.

But maybe at least it'll keep that creep Seguchi away from him. You should never be subjected to come-ons from your brother-in-law, especially when said brother-in-law failed to prevent the signal trauma of your life, the thing that has marked you forever. Despite your golden good looks, Yuki-san, I know that deep inside your soul is black and shriveled and about to die from disuse.

He uses a simple two-level open computer desk that looks like it was bought at IKEA. He can certainly afford better. There's a printer stand and some reference books on top. I can't get close enough to open the desk drawers to see what he keeps in the center and side drawers, which must hold manila folders with his drafts and past work. He really should keep such precious memories under lock and key. Someone might steal them.

I look around but see no framed photographs, nothing that marks this room as uniquely his. There are some nondescript reproduction prints of birds and such on the walls, maybe Audubons. He wouldn't be missed if he were never to return.

When he's in here, either he concentrates and types to the point of exhaustion, sore quivering muscles and headache, or he's bored out of his skull. Either way, he suffers. We should all suffer for our 'art'.

We exit quietly and proceed to some of the more unsavory parts of his home: the toilet and the bathroom. You may not realize it, but we Japanese have a fetish about cleanliness. At home, toilets are placed in rooms separate from the sink, shower and tub. In fact, ideally the sink is in a room separate from the shower and tub, but limited space does not always permit that.

Their toilet is in a tiny room that's the first one off the hallway on the right. It's a cream colored Western-style flush toilet – nothing but the finest for Yuki-san – with a bidet. Of course. If you're getting reamed up the ass or reaming someone else up the ass nearly every night, you need to practice good hygiene. I approve.

I look. Is this the toilet model that plays music if you hit the right button? If it is, what does it play? Bad Luck songs? Nittle Grasper songs? Or the jazz, classic rock, or David Bowie that I imagine the fucked up writer might like better than the mindless J technopop his lover grinds out?

The toilet has subdued pink wallpaper with a silver and gold metallic frieze of reeds and cattails. Leave it to these two pansies to pick ridiculously patterned wallpaper in which pink is the dominant color. Maybe they should have picked a pansy pattern? Even the door connecting the toilet to the next room – the bathroom – is covered with this ridiculous wallpaper.

Shindou-kun interrupts my thoughts to tell me that the wallpaper was already there when his darling Yuki (okay, so he didn't say it that way) moved in. Way to shatter my illusions there, kid.

We walk through the communicating door to a large bathroom. A white shag throw rug, made to look like polar bear skin but smaller and rectangular, lies on the cool off-white tiles in front of the lengthy vanity. A marble counter top in dusty rose and two shell-shaped cream-colored sinks grace the vanity. Two fluted frosted pink glass bowls containing potpourri made of dried rose petals rest on the counter and two frosted pink hand soap dispensers sit next to each sink. Under the vanity are drawers and cupboards. Above the vanity is an expanse of glass.

Mirror, mirror on the wall, I think to myself, who's the fairest one of all who gaze into your depths? Not you, it rebukes me.

I can imagine the naked body of the boy standing next to me sitting between the sinks, legs spread wide, welcoming his lover as he plunges into his tight ass . . . What does the mirror see then? Does the mirror even see anything, or is it glazed over with hazy mist due to the heat of their caresses, the heat of the shower, or the bath they just took . . .

I pull myself together. To the immediate left of the vanity, and separated from it by a partial wall, is a large square bathtub encased in cream-colored ceramic that matches the sinks and a white tub insert. There's more than enough room for two; in fact, the tub looks as if it can accommodate four comfortably. I can tell from the number of spigots and faucets that there are jets and whirlpools hidden in this tub. A slatted teak bath chair is pulled up next to the edge.

The big bad wolf says, 'The better to clean you with, my dear, after bone-shattering, jaw-dropping, dripping raw sex. But you'll never get the stench of my semen out of your skin, your hair, your mouth, or your ass, especially when I spray come all over you.'

In the far left corner is a shower. There is no door, just a transparent curtain. I bet that the showerhead and the hose attachment have many cleaning options. I imagine a forest of steaming rain pouring over Yuki-san, his skin gleaming and slick with sweat, as he holds Shindou-kun, whose legs are coiled around his back . . .

Rose-colored tiles matching the rose color on the surface of the vanity, interspersed with cream-colored tiles with rose and green floral designs that look like line drawings of botanicals, rise from the floor to the middle of the wall. Above that is wallpaper with a design of blowsy roses on an almost yellow background interspersed with stripes and a border frieze of roses at the top.

This must be Shindou-kun's taste, I think; Yuki-san would never decorate using such blowsy Victorian crap. Yuki-san likes modern. Yuki-san likes sleek. But I have to admit that for blowsy Victorian crap, it's not bad. It's pretty, even, just like Shindou-kun.

A stark white washer and dryer sit in the near left corner, along with some cream-colored wicker hampers, looking out of place in this world of faux Victorian design. Someone's removed all the dirty laundry, as I can't smell the rank smell of sex, booze, cigarettes, and dirty socks that must linger here every day. Perhaps they sent all their laundry out this week in anticipation of my visit. How sweet.

We return to the hallway and enter the last door on the right. This must be Shindou-kun's room, where he sleeps when the Great Author tosses him out of the bedroom, which I've heard happens often. He used to be tossed out of the apartment altogether, so I guess that's progress.

The walls are painted a stark white. There's a single bed with a comforter with an ugly black, white and red plaid design shoved up against the left wall, which it shares with the room next door. I'll bet the little pervert listens to every sound from that room when he's in here and longs to curl up next to his Yuki-san instead of in here.

There's a navy blue _kotatsu_ in the middle of the floor. Yeah, 'cause you need artificial warmth when you're not receiving snuggles from your hentai boyfriend. Yuki-san's colder than an iceberg anyway. I doubt a _kotatsu_ would thaw him.

Shindou-kun's computer and keyboard are in the corner, although I don't know why he'd need a keyboard now when he has a talented keyboardist like Fujisaki-kun to play his crappy compositions. You'd think he'd leave it at his parent's house along with the other crap he left behind when he turned into Tinkerbell sans tits. Notebooks are piled up next to the computer and keyboard. Maybe they're the notebooks in which he composes his crappy songs.

Some Nittle Grasper posters are pinned to the wall. I see no Bad Luck posters. Good, the boy's humble. He doesn't yet want to put himself up on a wall to worship. It's enough that others worship him. I doubt that Yuki-san is one of them yet.

But he's not entirely free of vanity. In addition to a stunning collection of various hair pomades, hair dye, conditioner, and the like, there's a full-length mirror on the wall that's good for checking himself out. Does the little J-pop queen preen in front of the mirror?

I'm not invited to look inside the closet, but I imagine there must be hangers upon hangers of whorish stage costumes for the little pervert to wear. Lately his outfits have been getting skimpier and skimpier. With their collars and cuffs and straps, zippers and strategically placed rips, they resemble bondage gear more than anything.

We exit Shindou-kun's room, turn right, and enter the room at the end of the hall: Yuki-san's room, the master bedroom, the one he shares with Shindou-kun on the nights when Shindou-kun's behaving.

Of course, Yuki-san's idea of 'behaving' probably differs from yours and mine. I hear he abhors noise or snoring or laughter unless prompted by his outsized libido. Then you may scream as much as you want until the neighbors call the police to complain.

The entire left wall is taken up with the sliding doors of a closet. I didn't know that Yuki-san had so many clothes, but perhaps there is storage here for bedding as well. For such a good-looking man, his clothing certainly doesn't show off his physique, other than his frequent failure to button his shirts up modestly. His clothing may be nice, even designer, but it's worn loose and untucked, as if he were a plump woman who can't bear to tuck in her blouse for fear it would be too tight.

My stockinged feet sink into smooth plush wall-to-wall carpet. At least when they wake up in the middle of the night – or more likely go to sleep in the middle of the night – their feet won't get cold until they hit the wooden floor in the hallway.

The bed takes up most of the floor space and consists of a mattress on a black lacquer base. It looks like it could easily fit three, maybe more. I wonder. Does he bring guests in here for you to entertain, Shindou-kun? And how do you feel about prostituting your body to please your hentai boyfriend?

A thick comforter made of blocks of taupe, deep orange, and tan of various sizes, is spread across the bed. If those CSI folks sprayed luminol, how much of the bedding would light up with come stains? I bet every square inch of the comforter is dotted with them.

I wonder which side is Yuki-san's and which side is Shindou-kun's. Does he make his boyfriend beg for sex, lick his butt, call him master? It is after all the master bedroom. I'll bet he doesn't let the brat forget that he's here on sufferance.

Large matching pillows are strewn carelessly at the head of the bed. Sandals and thongs lie in a pile on the floor. Linen vertical blinds cover the windows and the door to the balcony where laundry would hang if there were any.

Matching nightstands sit to either side of the bed with lamps with pleated shades atop fat pumpkin-colored ginger jars. More ashtrays appear here. One has a cigarette stub or two in it.

They weren't able to scrub this room as clean of its everyday smells as the others. A slight cigarette haze remains and a wafting scent redolent of sex and sweat overlaid by cologne or air freshener someone has been foolish enough to use hangs in the air.

For the home of two flaming queers, it's rather . . . austere. Understated. Subtle. Almost monastic. Maybe Yuki-san hasn't left his past as far behind as he'd like to think.

On the way out, I stop in the entryway by the _butsudan_ and ask if I can see it. Shindou-kun looks at me, puzzled, but without a word he opens it.

The _butsudan_ itself is plain and made of teak. It reminds me of Shaker furniture I once saw in a museum – simple and plain, but elegant. Some ceramic cups and artificial fruit sit on the small squat table in front of it. On the shelves are candles in ebony lacquer candlesticks, a small vase with some silk flowers, scrolls, and a photograph of a beautiful woman.

I wonder how long he has had this altar and if a photograph of his long lost love ever resided here. I hear he tore up and threw away his last photo of him when he was on a date with Shindou-kun. Maybe Shindou-kun made him tear it up? He seems like the jealous type.

'Good-bye,' I say, and bow. 'Thank you for showing me around the apartment you share with Yuki-san. I apologize for whatever trouble I may have caused.'

Yeah, right. I'm never sorry for any trouble I may cause. Neither is Yuki-san, I'll bet. Yuki-san lives for trouble.

TO BE CONTINUED

/1/ Jodo Shinshu is one of the original Pure Land Buddhist sects.

 

A/N, Chapter 1:

This apartment is the home Eiri moves to after he returns from his abortive attempt to leave Shuichi by moving back to Kyoto, marrying Ayaka, and leading a 'normal' life. That makes it the second place Shuichi and Eiri have lived together.

As originally conceived, this story was just supposed to be a description of the apartment Eiri and Shuichi share. Somehow it expanded to include a journalist who was being shown around the apartment. The journalist obviously has his own agenda and a grudge against Eiri (and possibly Shuichi). Read the next chapter to find out why.

As for denoting Eiri's family's temple as within the Jodo Shinshu tradition of Pure Land Buddhism, the other dominant Buddhist sect in Japan besides Zen, Zen does not typically focus on death and death rituals the way Pure Land Buddhism does and Ish of Gurabite, also Jinsai of LiveJournal, has concluded that it's most likely that the Uesugi temple would be affiliated with a branch of Pure Land Buddhism which focuses on the salvific effect of the Amida (also known as Amitabha) Buddha. Jodo Shinshu seems the most likely Amida Buddha Pure Land sect for the Uesugi temple to be affiliated with.

The reporter keeps making the point that although Shuichi lives in the apartment, it's Eiri's home, not Shuichi's. He's the sole owner; Shuichi is there on sufferance.

Research: Some of the details for this description of Eiri Yuki's apartment came from the following webpage for the book "Ash" by Holly Thompson:

URL: http://www.stonebridge.com/ash/Pages/apartments.html

I also consulted a Wikipedia article describing Japanese toilets and bathrooms. I learned the Japanese have the most advanced and amazing toilets in the world, including ones that play music.

 

Glossary:

"Yuki-san" – "-san" is the typical honorific, somewhat, but not entirely, equivalent to "Mr.Yuki" in English. It is more familiar than the Yuki-sensei or Yuki-sama he might be accorded on the basis of his writing (_sensei_, denoting a teacher or someone of professional stature, like a doctor) or status as a monk (_sama_, which can also be translated 'lord' or 'master').

_Tokonoma_ – A wall alcove where shelves and scroll, print, bonsai and/or flower arrangement resides. May also be the location of the household shrine, whether Buddhist, Shinto, or both.

_Butsudan_ –Buddhist altar built and intended for personal use, usually set into the wall with shutters, a door, or other closure so it's only open when being used. It can be as simple or elaborate as the owner wants. Since such altars usually contain remembrances of departed relatives, generally only those who have experienced a death in the family have them. Since in my Gravi universe Eiri's mother died when he was young, he has reason to have an altar even though he's not much of a practicing Buddhist anymore. He occasionally officiates at a funeral to help his father or Tatsuha out.

"Shindou-kun" – "-kun" is an informal honorific applied to younger males by older males, to other males of approximately the same age and status as the speaker, and to male children by adults. Once adulthood is reached, however, "-san" would normally be used unless the speaker were significantly older than the person referred to or a contemporary and a peer. At this point, Shuichi's at least nineteen or so. At eighteen, you're no longer a child and at twenty you are considered fully mature and given full legal rights. The reporter is deliberately trying to reduce Shuichi to a starstruck teenager.

_Genki_ – Fannish Japanese for "enthusiastic", "energetic", "lively", according to the Urban Dictionary, www.urbandictionary.com.

_Kotatsu_ – A low table with a heating element underneath and a futon or thick blanket underneath the table top to keep the heat trapped. Japanese residences do not typically have central heating, so space hearing such as this is necessary.


	2. Tour Guide

Chapter 2. Tour Guide

 

I greet him at the door and tell him to please come inside.

My skin is crawling. After all, he called me some pretty nasty names before. Tohma has assured me that he’ll behave, that his editor has made it clear any more insults will result in his termination with extreme prejudice, but I’m still shaky about showing this guy around our apartment, especially since no one else will be here. Tohma’s got meetings, Sakano would be no help, and K would make things worse, not better. Better for him to confront little old fairy me, not a threat to anybody.

Yuki isn’t here, for obvious reasons. He almost put the man in the hospital defending my honor.

Maybe I should have asked Hiro to help show him around. No, Yuki wouldn’t like that. He’s jealous that Hiro and I have known each other longer, though less intimately, than the two of us, and he doesn’t seem convinced when I tell him we were never more than friends. I guess he thinks I was into guys before I met him.

Our visitor is looking at the flower arrangement Mika did yesterday. We don’t see her very often anymore. Now that she’s pregnant, she’s spending more time in Kyoto with her family than in Tokyo with Tohma, so it was nice to see her and have a chance to chat.

I saw more of her yesterday than Yuki did because he’s supposed to finish a short story he’s writing for a leading women’s magazine by tomorrow. Mika’s staying in Tokyo today and Yuki’s visiting her to keep him away from our visitor, but even so he brought his laptop with him and plans to work on the story there. It’s just as well; I don’t think he’d trust this jerk near his laptop even though he’s made it very clear that his study is off limits. The most I can do is open the door and let the asshole take a peek.

The reporter’s eyeing the console that came from Yuki’s mother’s family. It’s the only family heirloom he owns. All the others are Uesugi heirlooms and are in use at the temple. Even if they weren’t, he doesn’t want anything from “that bastard,” as he calls him.

He’s a bit hard on his dad, but I understand. After all, I’m banned from coming anywhere near the temple. I guess his father thinks I’ll somehow pollute his temple with my shame and with his shame over having a son who turned out queer. Little does he know that Tatsuha is bisexual too.

Now the reporter is looking at the couch. No, he’s leering at the couch. What the hell is he thinking? We do sometimes use the couch instead of the bed when we get horny while watching TV or are in the living room when the fancy strikes us and we’re too lazy to walk to the bedroom. Besides, sometimes it’s fun to do it someplace different. I just wish that Yuki’s idea of ‘someplace different’ didn’t so often include places where we can be seen or overheard, like the park where we met or in the recording studio.

He’s looking up at Yuki’s artwork. He’s most proud of the original Picasso line drawing and the Chagall painting. They cost him a bundle, but he really likes them.I like the Chagall better. Since it’s a painting, it’s got more color than the black and white of the drawing. I wouldn’t have spent that kind of money on those works of art, but they make Yuki happy – or happier – so they’re worth it.

I briefly show him Yuki’s study and tell him that Yuki’s at his sister’s today and took his laptop with him. I don’t know why I bother to tell him; it’s none of his business what Yuki’s doing or where he is, but I want to forestall any questions. Yuki told me to block his access to his desk and watch him like a hawk because he’s likely to try to take a look or steal something from his desk as a memento.

Next we walk into the toilet. He seems entirely too fascinated with the bidet. I have an uncomfortable feeling I know what he’s thinking. No, I’m not going to mention it aloud. I do, however, tell him that neither Yuki nor I picked the somewhat gaudy wallpaper, which even covers the door to the bathroom.

He lingers in the bathroom, looking at the tub with what almost looks like yearning. Is he thinking about how it would feel to use it, to be sitting in the hot water with Yuki? Should I feel guilty? Should I point out that Yuki only likes to sit there with me and not anybody else?

We sent out our laundry to be done this week due to this visit. No one wanted us to air our dirty laundry. The reporter’s a sneaky one, and I can easily imagine him pawing through our stuff looking for stains and souvenirs.

We also aired out the apartment as much as possible to remove the lingering smell of those awfully strong cigarettes Yuki smokes. I love the guy, but his cigarette habit is smelly and disgusting and it drives my throat crazy. He even smokes in bed. /1/ Most days I smell like cigarettes.

After an uneventful visit to the spare room, which I use, we enter our bedroom. He looks at it oddly. I start feeling warm just imagining what he’s imagining we do there.

The thing is, he’s probably right. We do fuck like bunnies in all sorts of positions in this room. I’m no longer the naïve virgin I was when we first met. Yuki’s made me his wanton sex slut, and I love it. As long as he loves me, and what he asks of me isn’t too painful, I’m more than happy to do it. You see, he’s at his nicest in bed. He’s patient, he’s loving, he’s kind. So I go along with whatever he wants.

It’s over!!! He’s on his way out . . . No, he stops and asks to look at the Buddhist altar. I look at him, puzzled, but no one told me not to open the shrine. I gingerly open it to reveal a picture of Yuki’s mother. She’s beautiful but remote looking. He’s told me that she was a wonderful, loving mother who died of cancer when he was ten and Tatsuha was a toddler.

I close the front door and collapse against it. Thank goodness that’s over, I think. Thank goodness Yuki took my advice and Tohma’s advice and everyone else’s advice for once and stayed the hell away from here. He’s gotten himself in enough trouble as it is.

A week ago Yuki slugged the reporter who just left. (I refuse to call him a journalist.) The tour, and whatever sliver of interview I just gave him, plus one million yen out of Yuki’s pocket /2/, are intended to make up for his injuries, to keep him and the celebrity rag he works for from suing Yuki or having him arrested.

I know Yuki is prone to violence, but only when sorely provoked. And he was defending my honor. You see, this jackass of a reporter was outside NG headquarters one day when Yuki was escorting me to his car to drive me home from work.

The reporter shouted insults at me – called me a fucking fag, a pansy, a queer – and Yuki went crazy. He ran over to him, pushed him down and started beating on him. By the time the security guards had pulled Yuki off of him, the reporter had bruised wrists and broken ribs. Yuki seems to specialize in breaking ribs; that’s also what he did to Ma-kun of ASK after their lead singer Taki Aizawa had me raped.

Tohma spoke to Yuki and told him in no uncertain terms that he had crossed the line. Tohma then called the editor-in-chief of the reporter’s magazine to smooth things over and made a deal that I would give him a tour of our apartment, Yuki would take his lumps and pay the guy one million yen, and no one would press charges or file a lawsuit. He then ordered Yuki to get lost the day of the tour and offered him the use of his house. Tohma’s wife, Yuki’s sister, will be there, anyway.

At the time, I didn’t know why the guy was yelling at me and calling me names like that. Before I found out he was an entertainment reporter, I had no idea why he would hate me. Once I found out, it made my giving him a tour so fucking perverted.

I can barely bring myself to say it. Okay, here it is: He used to have a massive hard on for Yuki. He wrote about him and interviewed him over lunch at some fancy restaurant. He considers himself a gourmand and a man-about-town and thought he was the kind of guy Yuki could love.

This guy pined for him when Yuki was preoccupied with sampling as many girls the Tokyo night tossed up as humanly possible. One day, while Yuki was out running errands, the reporter ran into him and invited him to have a drink at his favorite bar.

While they were sitting at the bar, Yuki knocking back his second beer and the reporter his third twenty-year single-malt scotch, Yuki felt a hand on his knee and a leg bumping against his. He turned to his companion and asked him what the fuck he was doing.

News of the reporter’s infatuation came tumbling out. Yuki doesn’t deal with that kind of revelation well. He pushed the man away – he almost fell off the barstool – stood up and told him he wasn’t into guys.

In fact, from what I heard, what he said sounded a lot like what he said to me once. He sneered that he wasn’t gay – not that he really has a problem with it, at least not anymore – and then stalked out of the bar, his coat billowing behind him.

Anyway, ever since that moment, this guy’s had it in for Yuki. He’s jealous of what we have because Yuki turned down the opportunity to have the same thing with him. What do we have? You might not believe me, but we have love. Really, we do. A star-crossed love for the ages – some people would say a fucked up love – but love nonetheless.

And in the meantime, this guy who had the hots for Yuki has turned into a self-loathing gay-basher. I mean, isn’t that so ironic and sad? He’s a sad little man. I don’t know whether to wish him ill and hope his dick shrivels up and falls off or to wish that he finds the kind of love I have, just with someone else. I guess I should just wish good things for the guy. Then maybe he’ll stop harassing us.

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/1/ Of course Yuki smokes in bed. He’s naturally hot. Sorry, I couldn’t help myself.

/2/ One million yen sounds like a lot of money, but when this story was written, it only represented $11,200 US based on the then current exchange rate of one yen to .0112001 dollars.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N, Chapter 2: As mentioned in the author's note for the prior chapter, this story was originally just supposed to be a description of the apartment Shuichi and Eiri share. The reporter who narrates the first chapter is in deep denial about his sexual orientation and is taking it out on Eiri and Shuichi.
> 
> Shuichi shows remarkable restraint, especially for him, when he shows the journalist around. Eiri, on the other hand, shows his usual lack of restraint. Really, the guy's lucky he hasn't been arrested yet for some rash thing he's done. It's a good thing he was cooling his heels at Mika-san's and not present for the tour. The reporter probably wouldn't have been able to keep his insults to himself if the object of his ire and affection were present.


End file.
